


Stinging Substitution

by mika_does_retcon



Category: Doki Doki Literature Club! (Visual Novel)
Genre: Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blood and Injury, Depression, Eye Licking, F/F, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, It's All Monika's Fault, Masochism, Mutilation, One Shot, Paranoia, References to Depression, Self-Harm, Spit Kink, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy Relationships, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:26:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21988771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mika_does_retcon/pseuds/mika_does_retcon
Summary: This occurs during Act 1; Monika slowly sinks her claws into Sayori to interfere with her programming, selfishly intending to separate Sayori and her childhood best friend. Instead of suicide, she continues to hang on to her life while drawing inspiration from Yuri's tendency to self-harm for her coping mechanism. Yuri ends up helping her, though without receiving satisfaction during her assistance.
Relationships: Sayori/Yuri (Doki Doki Literature Club!)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	Stinging Substitution

Sayori used to describe her first, initial spell of depression as a cutesy black cloud that hung over her head and followed her around in hopes of ruining her day. She used to document her misery, her anger, her regrets and her guilt as by-products of her mental state. She used to hold onto a tiny, tiny metaphorical string in the event she'd learn to climb out of her own head, or someone would help pull her out. Sayori's realization hit her hard one day at a club meeting; staring at her preoccupied club members and Monika's concerned, smiling face, Sayori discovered that she wouldn't escape the cloud, no matter what she did. Her clarity inspired no surprise or despair. 

In fact, she felt nothing at all. 

She alluded herself as a machine or a robot of some sort. Not because she actually considered herself one (though, with the amount of paranoia she'd begun to experience daily, Sayori wouldn't be surprised if delusions followed swiftly) but because every movement she experienced felt mechanical. Any remnant of person-hood or humanity Sayori possessed had vanished and replaced with nothingness. And, of course, the desire to feel alive again. 

Which is why Sayori decided to approach Yuri for assistance. It was difficult taking the first approach on the quiet girl's doorstep and delivering firm knocks to the wooden door, the noise sounding like dull, padded taps to her exhausted brain. 

"Sayori?" Yuri's deep, mellifluous voice joined the gentle breeze in the summer afternoon. "What are you doing here?"

Her cheeks bore a considerable blush, obviously overheating from the thick, cream turtleneck she wore even though it was the middle of summer. Sayori knew better, though, as she spotted partially visible rusty bloodstains on the hems of her sleeves and wedged between her impeccably manicured nails. The mere sight of dried blood stirred something within the peach haired girl, slowly biting her dry bottom lip as she responded. 

"I'm sorry to bother you so late on a school night, Yuri," Sayori apologised with tautness to her voice. "I...need help."

Grainy, white noise is the only way Sayori was able to describe the mental mesh that clouded her perception every day, and it was intense. Sayori swore she could see it cloud her vision and invade her eardrums every day, except for two separate occasions. The first; when Sayori laid eyes on _him_ \- her best friend, the boy she was deeply, deeply in love with, the only individual that manages to clear the humming in her head. The second; when Sayori cut her skin, the idea that she stole from none other than Yuri. 

Yuri gazed down towards her feet with apparent hesitance before nodding. "Okay. Please, come in." Sayori stepped inside once Yuri motioned for her entrance. Little time was delegated to studying the inside of the darkened house, solely illuminated by the sunset shining through the sheer curtains, as Sayori felt immediate unease and the buzzing became prominent. 

Yuri's purple eyes seemed to darken mysteriously as she shut and locked the front door, leading the smaller girl upstairs. A quirk prominent in Yuri was her inability to truly look at people in the eyes, thus Sayori was unable to gauge her feelings. Her body language - tense, agitated, frenzied - was enough for Sayori to make conclusions.  _Her feelings MUST be similar to min_ e, Sayori thought to herself with certainty. In some fucked up way, she blamed Yuri for inspiring the idea of self-harm to her. Sayori's frustration towards Yuri was a displacement from what she felt for herself, her rotten, unworthy self. Not to mention the white noise screamed louder and louder in her ears as the girls ascended every carpeted step. 

Pain invaded Sayori's eardrums, and she found it harder and harder to maintain a straight face without compulsively digging her fingers into her ears and scratching her cochlea until she rendered herself deaf. It wasn't until the girls retreated to Yuri's bedroom, equally cast in shadows like the rest of her house, did Sayori find the noise trapped outside of the door. 

Then, like a wild animal, Yuri pounced on Sayori and pressed her to the door. 

"Y-You can hear it too, right?" Her desperate, blood-stained fingers wove themselves between Sayori's hair as her protruding eyes manically searched her face for an expression of understanding, or empathy. "The noise. It won't shut the FUCK UP!"

The tips of their noses were but a hairsbreadth away from brushing as both of their faces were embellished with harsh blushes. Despite discovering a new expression from her friend's face, Sayori wasn't terrified in the slightest, in fact, she felt relief at the mitigating gesture of Yuri's room and the confirmation she wasn't alone. Sayori found solace between Yuri's Junoesque figure and the humming, vibrating door where the noise remained in the hallway. 

"Yeah...Yeah, I hear it," the smaller girl airily confirmed, breath intermingling with Yuri's quicker, softer hyperventilating. Confirming her instability was never a willing feat, however, Sayori knew whatever, or  _ whoever _ was creating the white noise was unable to see her and Yuri.

Though she internally suppressed that thought, not wanting to become psychotic when she finally felt safe. Utterly, utterly safe in Yuri's lavender incense-scented hold, suffocated yet calmed by her chamomile tea breath. 

Sayori didn't realise how much Yuri was supporting her against the wall and her own body until she released her head, forcing her knees to lock and hold her body weight up. Yuri began to pace around the room, mumbling to herself. The words she uttered went undistinguished by Sayori due to the buzzing behind the door that penetrated her skull. 

"It wants to get in," Yuri mumbled as she paused in front of Sayori's limp form. "It wants to get in it's going to get in if it gets in  _she's_ going to get in..." As if her pale skin ignited with an insatiable burning itch, Yuri's fingers dipped underneath her sweater's sleeves and irrationally scrape across the skin. Nothing mattered to Sayori apart from stealing a glimpse of the cuts on the taller girl's flesh, whether it appears in front of her own eager blue eyes or in broken pieces underneath Yuri's fingernails. 

Gulping thickly, Sayori attempted to lubricate her scratchy, parched throat before she spoke. 

"Yuri..." She began but was ignored in favour of Yuri's compulsive blubbering and anxious thoughts. 

"What do you want?" Yuri's voice quivered, eyes wide like a scared child. In an instant, Sayori watched with confusion (and a tiny bit of fear) as her demeanour immediately switched to her typical reserved self. "I shouldn't have...I'm sorry, I didn't want to become overly emotional. I'd appreciate it if you'd forget everything I said." 

"It's okay, Yuri because I understand how you're feeling." Sayori caught the taller girl's shoulders. Blue bore into violet in the desperate discourse, and Sayori drunk in all of her immediate thoughts with simple, yet underlyingly intense, eye contact; should Yuri believe Sayori's assurances? Is Sayori attempting to locate a quick escape from Yuri's meltdown? 

"You don't, you need to leave," Yuri mumbled though made no immediate move to open the door like a hospitable host. 

Confidence in herself was foreign to Sayori, particularly when Yuri (however intimidating and breathtaking her personality was shaped) pleaded so desperately to her. Sayori slowly slid her fingertips along the wooden door, the unpleasant feeling of the harsh vibrations coursing through every ridge and wrinkle in her hands forced her to cringe. Every single fibre inside of her pleaded for the distance between herself and the door - after all, the only time Sayori hadn't experienced immediate dread and her usual exacerbated depressive state when she was inside of Yuri's room. 

"Can't you feel it vibrating against the door?" Sayori's eyes widened with unease. "I feel secure in here, like you. My brain doesn't jump into overdrive and I feel like I can  breathe for once." 

Though she was hesitant, Yuri copied Sayori's movements, reaching for the door and intermingling their anxieties. Body angled towards Yuri's, Sayori felt like they were somewhat connected through the humming stream coursing through their arms attached to the door. Just feeling the begging noise outside, desperate to enter and corrupt them more, strengthened her despite the subtle shaking of the shadowy bedroom. 

"Doesn't that waiting for you outside make you want to stay in here?" Sayori turned to Yuri for the first time since she released her. 

Her eyes weren't on her face, but on Sayori's exposed, cut wrist after her pink sleeve accidentally dipped down her arm. Shame and recluse didn't come so easily to Sayori, after all, Yuri inspired her self-harming. Yuri's natural reserve attempted to mask her flashing, appetent expression when confronted with the dried, bloody cuts in Sayori's flesh. She understood after slow understanding. 

"I see," Yuri accepted softly, hand falling from the door. "You too."

"The idea came from you," Sayori met her face with a solemnity as if imploring for Yuri to take responsibility for rewiring her brain to feel human once more at a forced injury, rushed adrenaline and psychological harm. 

It was obvious Yuri wanted to say more, to express herself, but something held her back. Sayori was painfully aware of Yuri's harmful tendencies and inability to control her excitement, but hope trickled its way into Sayori's thoughts. Perhaps Yuri would relinquish her control and lash out at her, oh, the very thought brought about tender throb to Sayori's cuts and a deep, foreign place inside of her stomach. If Monika saw her now, she couldn't help but imagine the accusatory, verbal thrashing she'd give her; this is why Monika, in that sweet, tinny voice of hers, recommended her to stray from Yuri and her bad, psychotic influence.

Sayori couldn't begin to understand what in the world Monika was referring to. 

"Would you like to sit?" Yuri stiffly gestured to her bed, though tone sounding less like an offer and more like a rehearsed, polite question. The furniture seemed to be non-existent in the majority of Yuri's residence - other than her bed, the only other objects furnishing Yuri's bedroom was a large mahogany desk and a desk chair. 

The only thing Sayori could think of as she watched, insecure and bashful, Yuri slowly move over to the bed was their similar existences and states of mind, but separated on different planes of presentation

She felt she was unworthy to join Yuri on her bed. An air of mature sophistication, identical to the aura that surrounded the purple-haired girl in the Literature Club, managed to exude from Yuri. It wasn't fair to Sayori, who was aware of the even playing field of insanity that existed between them in the bedroom, to simultaneously feel yearning and hesitance when confronted with Yuri. She discovered how her body swelled with pride at her external, mutilated destruction, almost daring to explode in a disgusting mixture of guts and innards when Sayori merely thought about showing Yuri the entirety of her marked body.

Instead, Sayori chose to kneel on the plush carpeted floor adjacent to Yuri's bare feet, like master and slave. 

"Join me?" Yuri requested as her hand splayed across Sayori's peach locks, tousling and ruining her style more than Sayori's typical bedhead. There was little warmth or affection present in her question, after all, they only wanted to witness and be witnessed by each others' eyes, a one time request to let go of doubts and submerse in madness. 

"No," Sayori quietly refused. "I'm fine here." She told the truth. She was more at ease away from the door that shielded the grainy static that followed her around. 

Yuri seemed embarrassed by the subtle imbalance of power between them but that was something Sayori refused to dwell on. Right now, Yuri did not have to overcompensate for Sayori's sake. 

"Isn't it kind of humiliating for you to assume such a position?" Yuri compulsively smoothed her hands down the black fabric of her jeans. 

"I want to be," the kneeling girl assured. The sound of Yuri's nubile, nimble hands running over her pants was music to Sayori's ears. Gone was the harsh and punishing static against her eardrums hour after hour, day after day. 

The compulsive movements were Yuri's way of remaining sane and grounded. A part of her remained terrified and untrustworthy of Sayori's trusting cerulean eyes and assumed the position, believing her confession was lies. Both of the girls shared the aural perception of the static continuing to hum outside of the door yet hesitance pried them apart like a thin sheet of glass. 

"This isn't strange to you? At all?" Hands halting, Yuri anxiously awaited Sayori's response, albeit both of the girls knew her answer. 

"No; never."  _Never_ , Sayori to herself repeated as reinforcement. 

"I'm relieved." Yuri's shy expression dropped and changed to a blank stare all of a sudden, casting doubts into Sayori's mind that it once enveloped her friend's face in the first place. Now, Yuri appeared hauntingly stoic. "I don't know what I'd do with you, or myself, if  you found me strange." An unhinged, capricious giggle halted Yuri from saying more. 

The threat went unheard from Sayori, whose esurient eyes followed Yuri's stained fingertips with a phallic longing to suck them bare. 

"It's not strange," Sayori's hollowed voice assured. "I just want to," she reached for Yuri's hand, "be surrounded," she slid along and connected their soft, dry fingers and palms, "and  _experience_ ," she salivated as she guided Yuri's fingers to her lips, " _everything_ you have." 

Then, as if tasting the most delicious treat Natsuki had ever baked, Sayori dragged her tongue up Yuri's elegant pointer and middle finger to taste  _everything_. 

Hesitance, but strange delight, plagued Yuri's gasp at the sensation of the wet muscle along her skin. Sayori tightened her grip on the other girls' wrist in hot,  hot pursuit and determination to absorb and merge Yuri's dried blood and her saliva, like a covalent bond between two molecules. The girl kneeling could sense Yuri's inner turmoil between reservedly yanking her hand away and forcing her fingers down Sayori's throat in order to reach her insides. And, God, Sayori had no idea how much she ached to feel the usually tight passage of her esophagus forcibly spread for Yuri's fingers, then hand, then the wrist, then forearm. So, Sayori continued to take charge for Yuri's shy vacillation, curling her tongue that around her pointer finger. Yuri's fingerprint tickled the tip of her tongue. 

Surprisingly calloused fingers began a chain of rushing endorphins that Sayori no longer realised her body could release. Sayori envisioned gentle Yuri's skin eroding from gripping a pen, a book, a knife,  anything that could hurt herself or indulge in her masochistic fetish. Each lap and lick allowed Sayori to memorise the feeling of each finger so she didn't have to keep her eyes open, and she abandoned the now clean fingers in favour of Yuri's neglected ones. 

Rust and metal flavouring utterly assaulted Sayori's taste buds. The sensation primarily remained on the tip of her tongue as the appendage vigorously dug into every nook and cranny Yuri's fingers offered. Sayori swore she couldn't think, feel or hear anything except for Yuri inside, adjacent, above...basically merging with her. 

Sayori's lips greedily suckled Yuri's thumb. It twitched as her teeth gently sank into the knuckle, stubbornly forcing Yuri to remain in her mouth. The blue hue of Sayori's eyes finally revealed themselves only to drown in violaceous irises. At once its seemed everything in and around the room throbbed rhythmically as if they were encased in a viscera. Sayori couldn't bring herself to pry her eyes away from Yuri's intense, agitated stare as she lapped at the delicious heartbeat pulse spot. It was so difficult for Sayori to keep her laboured breath steady around the thick digit in her mouth. 

But she didn't have to suffocate any longer, feeling horrible, bittersweet relief as Yuri fought against Sayori's vacuumous, wet imprisonment on her thumb. Startled, Yuri trembled when the desiccated blood caked on her fingers had been greedily stolen by Sayori - Sayori and her slick lips and rapacious tongue - and dissolved in her mouth. 

"You took all of it." The accusation was simply stated. Yuri's expression cycled through powerful, waxy emotions as she stared at her wavering fingers. 

Sayori's mouth remained open as if her jaw wasn't able to be locked closed without one of Yuri's fingers as a lock mechanism. Heart thrashing violently under her breast, Sayori waited for the scolding or punishment her friend would unabashedly unleash. 

Instead,  _thank you so much Yuri_ , her hands squeezed the smaller girl's face in a harrowing manner to eventually force her tongue into Sayori's mouth to taste what was originally hers. 

No matter how delicately elegant Yuri's hands appeared, Sayori winced at the harsh, inexperienced touch and the way her palms forced her cheeks to scrape and prod against her molars. Their wet tongues meshing sloppily appeared to be less of a kiss and more sultry, intense chance to taste each other. Intimacy, passion and affection were lacking; only desideratum remained. Yuri leaned forward to meet Sayori on the ground halfway, who pressed her fingers into Yuri's bony kneecaps in an attempt to equalize the pressure on her face using her for stabilisation. This, Sayori decided every time Yuri's slimy tongue ran along with her own tongue or another part of her mouth, was the most disgusting circumstance she'd ever participated in. 

Despite her weak knees becoming numb under her weight, and the uncomfortable, dripping mess building in her mouth, Sayori appreciated Yuri's mutual confession of insanity, evident by the laddering cuts she hid underneath her sweater. Tasting just wasn't enough anymore. This, again, was a mutual thought seemingly travelled through osmosis, slowly pulling away from each other. 

The dishevelled sight of Yuri above Sayori took her breath away; gone was the elegant imperturbable front she'd worked tirelessly to develop, leaving behind the unadorned, thirsty shell of herself. Sayori always considered Yuri to be beautiful, tantalizingly so, but the wide purple eyes and rosy, lubricious lips Yuri wore in the disturbing degradation into admitted delirium rendered her unsightly. Somehow, this revelation only served to draw Sayori into Yuri further, more willingly than before, now that the peach haired girl decided they existed on an even playing field. 

"Have you tasted it before?" Sayori asked, using her sleeve to wipe away excess saliva slowly running down her chin. 

"Never; I prefer to save and savour my blood. Just so it's available for me to use anytime I need it, or to keep it settled on my skin or allow it to stain my belongings all the time." Yuri's responses became increasingly liberated the more they exposed to each other, just as Sayori's curiosity peaked. How did Yuri utilize her blood? Whether she had rituals, routines or a new concept that would surprise Sayori with her creativity, she was desperate to hear everything. 

"I enjoy the taste of my own blood," She admitted shyly, bumping the tips of her two pointer fingers together. Unlike her own clumsy demeanour, Sayori preferred an easy cleanup. Nothing irritated her more than feeling her scabby, unclean skin crack with every wrist movement if she didn't wash her own blood away, only to be replaced with more oozing blood. 

The pain, however, Sayori welcomed. 

How she _relished_ in the pain she inflicted on herself. Every session began standing dry and naked in the shower, working up the nerve to slice the razor over her milky skin. Every session finished with Sayori curled against the icy, damp tiles listening to her own panting reverberating off the bathroom walls, perspiring though she was bone-chillingly cold. The sounds never sounded like they came from Sayori's own mouth, but it had to be her, considering the depraved and violent way her mutilated wrists trembled as crimson blood poured out of each slit in a rhythmic, pulse-like fashion. 

"And you drink it every time?" Yuri questioned, licking her lips slightly as if a phantom taste danced on her taste buds. 

"Yeah. It makes clean up easy...but I suppose you don't need to worry about that," Sayori figured as her arm was tenderly lifted from her lap and held in the air. She felt exhilarated when Yuri touched her for the first time, though over clothing, like Yuri sent scorching spikes of fire along and inside her pores.

"Tell me what it feels like when you cut yourself," Yuri demanded softly. Practically hearing a pleasurable purr in Yuri's crooning voice, Sayori's heart fluttered at feeling Yuri's slick, mature fingers trace her thin pink shirt as if envisioning the red cuts and white scars hidden underneath. Now trembling (with need or fear, she'll never be able to decipher as Sayori was unable to intuit Yuri's emotions anymore), Yuri shyly averted her eyes. Self-consciousness seemed to gain control of the taller girl once more; although Sayori shared similar mutilation marks, the small, cancerous part of Yuri's superego urged her to hide and turn her frustration to her own skin. 

"I-It feels..." Sayori hopelessly desired to tell Yuri anything in her stream of consciousness that she wanted to know, especially if _she_ _keeps touching me like that PLEASE!_ "It feels like my skin is tight and the only thing that can make it BREATHE is my razor and I hold my arms under running water to experience that last bit of stinging pain until the very end and it, shit, Yuri, it's better than p-poetry, or looking at  _him_ , or anything that you could imagine!"

Yuri appeared saddened. "Oh." She simply remarked. 

"And it makes the static stop." Sayori pressed further, gripping the knitted jumper in her fists to compel Yuri closer to her again. 

"Bullshit. Let me see I wanna see..." Her purple eyes hardened with a tinge of envy and disbelief, albeit Yuri's quivering bottom lip betrayed her hidden hunger and her disappointment of her own wanton behaviour. It didn't last long, however.

It was _her_ turn to be the thief. 

Sayori didn't consent, nor calm her nerves, before Yuri shoved her sleeve up her arm, fabric bunching tightly in a tourniquet like fashion around her upper arm. Shivers and sighs escaped her at once as she was exposed in all sense of the word; her skin and beneath the layers of her skin. Both of the girls' eyes watched as a particularly deep cut opened once more from the rough movements, causing blood to pool around the wound and create a faded skin mark following Sayori's shirt. Yuri wasted no time bringing the freshly opened wound to her mouth, behaving erratically and less gentle than Sayori treated her fingers the previous time, and greedily suckled her cut. 

The action felt unfair to Sayori's other cuts she'd carefully created, but she couldn't deny Yuri, not now, not ever, she decided. Sayori didn't know what to do with herself other than allow the taller girl to handle her in the way she  knew she'd become addicted to. Her very essence leaked from the gash and into Yuri's oddly wonderful waiting mouth guided up by her tongue, and Sayori simply sighed once, drawn-out, slack-jawed, paralyzed. A gentle sucking pop later to seal the cut and allow the platelets in her bloodstream to take over, Sayori was once again released from Yuri's warm mouth and into the punishing, stale air of her bedroom, soothed only by Yuri's deep, sustained panting. 

For the purple-haired girl, one taste wasn't enough. Sayori quivered with terror at the gruesome smile that overtook Yuri because at any rate she would absolutely be tortured by her but now her courage _...disappeared? Do I really want this anymore?_ Fingernails from Yuri's thumbs hooked into her skin, either side of the previously bleeding cut, and painstakingly pried it apart. Sayori's face contorted in agonizing misery, loving how it hurt but hating Yuri's eyes. No matter how badly Sayori desired for escape, angering her friend by stealing her treat would provide dire consequences. Yuri attempted to stretch her beyond the bloody stencil Sayori carved before her. 

"Mmm...beautiful," Yuri admired almost inaudibly. "You're beautiful and I want to see what you look like inside."

Sayori's senses dulled, allowing the thrill to rush and overtake her with every compliment Yuri lavished upon her mutilation. It didn't matter to Sayori that Yuri pretended her cuts weren't an extension of her own body but their own independent 

"I want to see your  _bones_." 

Maybe enduring wouldn't be so bad after all.

She stole Sayori's freshly squeezed blood once more, a feat that she seemed oddly proud about. After all, Yuri reopened the cut for her selfish gain. Any semblance of dread melted away once Sayori caught her bright blood dissolving on Yuri's tongue, moving forward to generously offer her a taste - a flavour that she'd indulged in many times before, but never combined with Yuri. Her movements remained gentle as Sayori met her halfway, kneeling up in a straighter position to compensate Yuri's stretch downwards. 

Time and urge disallowed Sayori to savour the new, but familiar, taste as Yuri cruelly left Sayori hanging to instead attend to the rest of her older, healed self-made injuries. Under Yuri's tongue, she felt like her flesh would melt like frigid ice and leave behind her solid skeleton as a tainted reward. One thing was for certain; Sayori had _never_ felt anything as gratifying as this before. 

With practised movements, their tongues twisted and tasted less frantically and messily than their previous session. Sayori hesitated before swallowing right away, loving the thick metal flavour that seemed to thickly coat her tongue, teeth and cheeks. So, after Yuri slowly ripped away from her like a strip of velcro, her mouth hung open as a pool of saliva accumulated underneath her tongue and threatened to spill beyond her teeth. 

The greedy tongue immediately darted to catch the drop of blood running down Sayori’s arms. Yuri’s fast reflexes surprised the peach haired girl, as she was like a useless puddle of quivering mush personified. She’d completely and utterly lost her wits and unable to comply with Yuri when she offered her tongue for sucking again. 

The room was _blisteringly hot_ , fuck, Sayori felt herself teetering the edge of her own boiling point that she’d just discovered. Yuri's tongue aimed for more gentle caressing this time around. Blood was messily applied around Sayori's lips like a crude lipstick stain when her lips refused (the function didn’t exist in Sayori’s brain any longer) to part for her. 

“Mn...no more, can’t breathe...” Sayori managed to gasp out pathetically. 

Yuri complies at the weak shove against her chest. “Fine,” she sighed, appearing dissatisfied. Her purple eyes warily remained on Sayori’s blood-stained lips. “I, um, want a turn at cutting your skin.” 

“T...To cut me?” Sayori panted as she struggled to catch her breath and return to homeostasis. 

“Please? I don’t think I’ll calm down by cutting just myself this time.” Yuri pleaded, wide violet irises reaching into the depths of Sayori’s soul and grasping her in a way that made her unable to decline. Sayori had never witnessed Yuri in this flushed, desperate state before. 

Not to mention the morbid curiosity that invaded Sayori and poisoned her neurologically. She _needed_ this from the moment Yuri discovered her mutilation.

"I'll let you cut me," Sayori decided, taking a breath then feeling a little stronger. Just how far was Yuri willing to push her? Her thoughts weren't stemming from places of fear or reluctance but from her friend's hidden intentions. 

"Hah...I'm glad, I'm _so_ glad," Yuri breathed shakily, hand coming over her heart.

Standing from the carpet and ignoring her aching, screaming joints in her knees, Sayori stood in unison with Yuri, who once again towered over her. She observed her brain active with thoughts behind her eyes. Yuri must have a routine when cutting her own skin, would she force Sayori to comply also? As Yuri cast her gaze over Sayori's unconfident form, Sayori felt her breath hitch in her throat when she sensed scrutiny in her stare. It would devastate Sayori if Yuri rejected her now in her most vulnerable state. 

"You'll need to take off your clothes," Yuri suggested. The request didn't come from a lewd place in Yuri's mind, but that didn't stop that blush rose on Sayori's cheeks.

"Why?" Sayori indignantly protested, covering herself with her arms. "I'll push my sleeves up instead."

"They'll become a distraction," a disapproving frown accompanied Yuri's condescending tone. "You're not the _only_ one who wants to experience everything. Won't you comply? Don't you want to solely sense how my blade forces its way into your skin without any distraction?"

As tempting as the offer sounded, hesitance still clouded Sayori's judgement. 

"Will you change your mind if I show you what I was just working on?" Yuri's gentle, empty tone was anything but reassuring. The only sight or sound that comforted Sayori in the slightest was watching the taller girl discard her cream sweater to reveal the stunning mutilation Yuri created in her skin. The cuts demonstrated a haphazard, unscrupulous technique, one of practice. Sayori stepped forward without shame in ogling her friend's self-hatred and looming suppression personified - she was so close that the tips of her eyelashes brushed Yuri's wounds with every reflexive (and unwanted) blink. 

"Are these fresh?" The question was unnecessary, she already knew the answer.

"Mhm." Yuri nodded as she pointed to a thin gash on the side of her wrist, still oozing with her sweet, tangy blood. It appeared darker than its predecessors, with white fibres stubbornly stuck inside as if the gash clung to Yuri's sweater in vain to continue to hide its existence. "This is the last one I finished before you arrived." 

Next, Yuri unbuttoned her black jeans and tenderly slid them down her long legs. The gentle movement firstly puzzled Sayori but understood with awe as surplus cuts and scars became visible on Yuri's thighs. It never occurred to Sayori to punish her skin with her razor anywhere else except for her arms and wrists, after all, the peach haired girl simply emulated how she assumed Yuri self-harmed. Resentment replaced her hesitance and swelled more as her blue eyes remained on her thighs. Sayori thought she finally understood how Yuri felt as she risked approaching her today, clawing her way up the pedestal she'd placed Yuri upon, but now Yuri couldn't have felt more like a stranger to Sayori. 

"Our school uniforms are just long enough to cover them." Yuri rotated her leg outwards to show off her lacerations. The cuts that were littered on Yuri's inner thighs were less frantic than the ones on her wrists and appeared more red and irritated as if Yuri paid little to no attention to their healing process. 

"Do they hurt?" Sayori's voice quivered, once again betraying her loss of ambivalence to stripping for Yuri and letting her cut her skin. 

" _ Yes _ ," Yuri grinned wildly, speech sounding like exasperated squeaks, caused by her uncontrollable high pitched giggling. "It fucking stings! You'll want to experience it too!"

"Okay..." Sayori finally accepted. Her own pale denim shorts likely wouldn't cover the consequences of Yuri's knife on her flesh, but she paid no mind or concern. She would readily sacrifice her arms with effervescence just to suffer a millisecond of the addictive pain Yuri described. "I want it."

The taller girl offered Sayori no privacy as she stripped, but the courtesy and demurity that previously existed between them had long been abandoned, after all, their shared desired goal to create gory, permanent marks took priority. Not willing to disrupt the tense silence, Sayori rid herself of her clothes with as little shuffling or rustling as possible. Among the misery Sayori felt, distracted by the haunting humming in her brain, Sayori realised she'd traipsed to Yuri's house barefoot. 

The private, intimate areas of Sayori's body were modestly covered by her bra and underwear. Exposed was the only word coursing through Sayori's mind under Yuri's intense purple irises, but she never spared a glance at anything but Sayori's pale, bloody incised arms and the smooth expansion of her flat stomach and thighs. Yuri seemed to ignite sensations on her skin only Sayori could feel, only Sayori could intuit - her organs ached, pressed,  screamed in agony to finally experience a sharp cold knife or even her tense fist, squeezing until she burst in a visceral abhorrent mess. 

Sayori's heart fluttered as Yuri nod once with approval, finding herself lost in the jagged cuts on the other's arms. 

"I'll show you my knife collection now," Yuri walked towards the small desk in the corner of her room. Yuri made no attempt in beckoning Sayori, though she took no offence - Sayori desired this on her own accord. 

Presenting a dark mahogany draw with golden trim and lock, Yuri delicately slid the drawer open to reveal a myriad of knives differing in size, shape, detailed engravings on the blades and coloured handles, some smooth with little to grip and others carefully ridged with finger grips. The reality of the glinting knives in the afternoon sunlight forced Sayori to come to terms with the tangible situation she willingly stumbled into, and just how  excited I am. 

One knife immediately called Sayori to its looming presence and it seemed to be Yuri personified into an esoteric weapon for the purple-haired girl. The matte black handle practically moulded itself to be grasped by Yuri's long fingers again and again. Small silvery purple butterflies were painted with care and attention to detail (perhaps Yuri painted those intricate patterns herself) along with the handle. It appeared that Yuri used the knife when Sayori arrived at her house, judging by the steadily drying blood caked on the blade. 

"Though I use them all equally, she's my favourite," Yuri explained affectionately as a warm smile grew on her lips. 

_This seems rather normal to her_ , Sayori noticed, realising she was utterly envious of both Yuri's many tools and the expression of worship on her mien. Her collection of a single worn razor weighed nothing in comparison to Yuri's collection of knives. 

"It's...really special," Sayori murmured as she cautiously ran her pointer finger along the blade, messily smudging the drying blood. Maybe if Sayori dug the blade into her fingertip forcefully enough, a few drops of blood would mingle with Yuri's to reignite the flat, dry stains from a previous session. She wished red blood cells carried their owner's consciousness so she could experience the rushing journey through Yuri's bloodstream, a sneaky foreign body being pushed with every throbbing pound of Yuri's heart. 

"What does yours look like?" 

Sayori wasn't sure how to answer the question, afraid that Yuri would discard her, especially after witnessing how reliant she was on her knives. She wrapped her arms around herself insecurely, shivering slightly in the shadowy room. 

"I don't use a knife, I use a razor. I don't own any knives." Sayori decided honesty was the best approach. 

"Believe me, the pathetic razor you own won't compare to the knife I decide to cut your skin with," Yuri haughtily assured. 

"Do you have one in mind? To use on me, I mean..." She wasn't sure why their conversation was hushed. Neither of them held fears of somebody discovering their injurious intents. 

"I do," Yuri confirmed as she methodically moved the knives in the drawer in her search. "I have knives that would be suitable for all of the members of the Literature Club. Though I must admit, I've never thought about turning a knife on somebody except for myself."

"Is that something you think about often, Yuri?" Sayori softly prompted, overcome with a sudden inclination to pick her brain of all her demented thoughts and desires. 

"I...would like for my friends to understand how I feel, so I'm prepared to lend them something from my collection if they're ever curious," she sheepishly admitted, brushing her fingers down through a thick lock of hair. Even in her most vulnerable and mentally deranged state, she still remained generous. 

Sayori anxiously searched for the weapon that would best suit her in hopes she'd be able to locate it before Yuri presented her knife. "What does mine look like?" 

Her expectations were practically non-existent, bound to be intrigued by any design or embellishment. In little to no time at all, Yuri easily plucked the knife by the smooth, sharpened blade, passing it to Sayori to allow her to bond with her weapon. To Sayori, the knife blossomed against its counterparts with its textured, wooden handle as opposed to a bright, glossy plastic handle. A thin red line detailing the base of the handle didn't render it colourless. With certainty, this knife perfectly represented Sayori in all of her miserable, dull glory. Adrenaline surged through her, overcome with pride for Yuri and her psychic ability to, somehow, really see what her existence felt like. 

Cheek brushing against Yuri's bare shoulder, Sayori ached to fast forward to the time when she would inevitably hurt her, and she'd enjoy every moment.

"Do you like it?" Yuri asked, eyes never once leaving the knife with envy. 

"Yes, I do," Sayori breathed. 

After watching her knife be firmly and carefully placed back on the desk, Sayori experienced an indescribable loss of warmth around her skin. She didn't realise the drop in temperature had changed so drastically once she'd removed her clothes. The orange hue in the room disappeared entirely only to be replaced by last evening's purple umbra, complementing Yuri almost unsettlingly well as she extracted two more knives from the drawer. In comparison to Sayori's, they were uglier, blunter and almost as if the knives' existence was offensive to the rest of Yuri's collection. The smaller of the two boasted a florescent pink handle with a cracking yellow smiley face sticker decorating the bottom, appearing almost like a child's safety knife. 

"Natsuki, right?" She guessed, and without Yuri's assurance, she knew she was correct. 

"Yeah. I believe she would feel insulted at her knife's appearance. I think it suits her," Yuri added, tucking the unsightly knife into the farthest corner in the drawer. 

Both girls' attention drew to the lone green knife between them. Its blunt and rusted blade positioned menacingly towards them, something that Sayori figured was not intentional on Yuri's behalf. This weapon would not cut or slice flesh, but carve and saw with critical damage. Sayori's razor left thin white scars she thought were pretty...but imagining the hideous disfigurements _that_ knife would make wondered why Yuri chose this knife especially for Monika?

"Monika's blade is so dull," Sayori cautiously remarked, heart, beating with anxiety at verbally announcing their club's president's name. Out of paranoia of Monika's watchful eye, neither of them dared to say her name, but somehow hearing the grainy noise outside of the room aggressively rise in volume made Sayori feel safe with Yuri. 

"I never bothered to sharpen this one, so it'll be perfect for her because the blunt blade will inflict the most destruction on her face and body," Yuri perked up happily along with her explanation. "God, I _ hate_ Monika, I'd use this on her myself, but I wouldn't kill her right away so she'll be forced to watch..."

It was shocking to hear those spiteful works leave Yuri's mouth. Sayori never thought her soothing, soft voice that emerged from her vocal cords would contort with such spiteful threats towards their president. Instead of defending Monika in an obligatory manner, Sayori, in the selfish and jealous depths of her mind and heart, couldn't help but hate Monika too. 

"I-I'm aware I shouldn't be saying such violent things to the Literature Club's vice president," Yuri mumbled nervously. 

"Don't worry about it, Yuri," Sayori hushed the taller girl, squeezing her shoulder. "Earlier, I told you I understand how you feel, didn't I?"

"There's something condescending and smug about her. Like she's more knowledgeable than us." 

As the room's shadows flickered, Sayori's head whipped around to wildly analyse the room. Deep down she knew her paranoia surfaced momentarily, as had Yuri's, and attempted to assure herself Yuri and herself were the only ones in Yuri's minimalist bedroom. 

"Show me the last knife," Sayori begged urgently, willing her mind to stop racing. 

"Here," Yuri's voice rose in pitch, cooing at the weapon she delicately handled. By process of elimination, that one was for  him . 

The smile slowly fell from Sayori's lips the longer she stared at the knife.  His knife, one Yuri handpicked and already loved and violated time and time again on her own skin. Everything about this situation felt... disgusting. 

"This one is perfect for  _ him_ ." The knife Yuri more delicately cradled in her hands seemed almost like an apparition due to its stunning angelic structure. Sayori wondered as she gazed at the alluring contours of the blade if Yuri ever used the blade on herself as she fantasied about  _ him _ . Suddenly, her resentment and utter jealousy ballooned larger than it did before. If  _the bitch _ wouldn't have found some sick enjoyment out of it, she'd plunge the knife into her chest like an act of revenge for pining after her childhood best friend. 

"Can we move on now?" Sayori asked with a more forceful tone than she meant. Usually, she'd feel guilt at snapping at her friends, particularly the ever sensitive Yuri, but Sayori didn't give a shit anymore. 

As if in a trance over simply gazing at the knife, Yuri immediately snapped out of her daze to witness and intuit the smaller girl's look of utter contempt. It was apparent Yuri didn't correlate Sayori's displeasure and the overly mawkish affection lavished onto _his_ knife. Either way, she reacted with hurried guilt by throwing the knives back into the drawer in an uncharacteristically, less than gentle manner. Passiveness was only shown to Sayori's knife, handle warmly and experimentally encased in Yuri's hand as if testing hand positions and grip firmness for what was about to come. Sayori's annoyance melted slightly when faced with the blade, finding its bright reflections of herself and the room lost, only to be replaced with the ominous present shadows and foreshadows. The mood settled as their emotions did. 

"Okay. Unless I'm in...dire circumstances," Yuri blushed secretively. "I usually just lie on my bed." 

"I don't mind, if that's what you'd prefer," Sayori felt a sudden, sharp stab of hesitance accompany her response. They'd already gone _this_ far, not to mention the possibility of Yuri reacting with instability and frustration if she continued to stall or delay. 

Yuri motioned to the bed with the tip of her blade, and Sayori felt no other obligation than to follow her nonverbal instructions. The plain white (soon to be stained crimson) bedsheets felt roughly unfamiliar against her bare skin as she laid back against them, seemingly unable to contort with the unfamiliar shapes and curves of her own body versus Yuri's body, who easily kneeled on the mattress next to her. Goosebumps slowly prickled over Sayori's stomach as the tips of Yuri's violet hair bumped and brushed over her skin, finding it difficult to stop herself squirming.

Nervous energy simmered around the room, rising and falling with every anxious breath they drew in, thickly coating their palms with a light sweat and their lungs with tension. The simple demonstration of the knife seemed to ignite deeper nerves within them; the adrenaline and dopamine assured the girls of their excitement instead of anxiety. Felt particularly intensely by Sayori, her fingers could barely stop trembling in short of stressfully tugging the sheets from their hold tucked underneath the mattress. 

"L-Let me know if I hurt you, please," Yuri requested softly, bottom lip quivering again as she stared at Sayori's cuts. " _Please_."

" _Do some damage_ ," Sayori pleaded, voice barely above a whisper. To her, anything else except for Yuri dragging the knife over her skin again, and again, _and again and again and again_ was painful. 

"Okay." This was all Yuri could force from her overexcited vocal cords, grabbing her left arm with a moist, sweaty hand to unceremoniously pin it to the bed.

Yuri's pupils dilated in dissolute, absorbing the scarce light that penetrated the room to appreciate the sight of Sayori's older, healed cuts previously created by Sayori herself. Sayori watched with a tense shiver as the purple-haired girl licked her lips, fingers on her arm tightening and sinking into her flesh, like a predator cherishing her (willing and oh, so needy) prey. Cannibalistic was the only adjective Sayori could describe Yuri at this moment, and she wouldn't have minded if she acted on some unholy anthropogenic urge and ripped through her throat and drinking all that Sayori has to offer  _ and eventually end my useless, useless, useless, useless life... _

Sayori wasn't granted the luxury to hold her breath or settle her nerves before Yuri lacerated her skin with the knife for the first time. A gasp tore through Sayori's lungs and respiratory system at just how much _it fucking hurt oh_ the sharp blade sliced through more layers of her skin and released more adrenaline to make her heart race in a single cut than Sayori's razor could ever dream of. Blood welled and beaded at the slit, the ruby liquid overflowing in larger quantities than Sayori had experienced in the past, appearing like a glossy red bracelet situated snugly on her arm as if it was custom made for her by Yuri.

Nothing had reached deeper inside of her body than the cold blade. Though aware the initial laceration probably sliced only a few layers of the epidermis, the sting Sayori felt through the rest of her dermis tricked her senses. As if Yuri cut deep enough to perform an amputation. Sayori wondered how strange it would appear to arrive at school the next day with a limb missing. Would the phantom pain render her nostalgic? Would the onus fall on Yuri to keep the amputation from rotting and inevitably decomposing? Would Yuri allow her to visit her arm? Or detail the monstrous activities Yuri performs with it nightly?

A second sloppy cut, accidentally overlapping the first, suddenly shoved Sayori's thoughts with a flinch, mind blank but screaming in thick, coursing _but beguiling_ pain. Unable to twist her tense neck to fascinatingly, tremblingly, marvel at Yuri's handy work on her pinned down the arm, Sayori hyperfocused her vision on the taller girl's face. The x-shaped cut seemed to almost vividly reflect itself from Yuri's dark pining plum eyes. Now, she held no immediate need to witness her injuries as long as she had access to Yuri's eyes. 

Sayori's body was no longer her own - Yuri and her own primal urge for pain possessed and overtook her.

A strangled, almost wounded, despite being the assaulter, moan pushed up through Yuri's diaphragm and tumbled from her throat. Eyes closing, forcing Sayori's strained gaze away from her face to her own arm, Yuri's tongue invited itself to tentatively prod the very middle of the cross where Sayori's skin began to curl up and peel back slightly. Never did her lips touch her wound, just her tongue which acted as a fleshy straw. Through her blinding, spontaneous tears and gritted teeth, Sayori watched her blood being lifted and sucked by Yuri's tongue, mingling familiarly with its natural moistness.

Yuri released her hold on Sayori's limbs and flesh, hands coming up to instead tenderly cup her small, round face. Shiny purple smudges, pale pink lips and a bright red bloody tongue was all of Yuri that Sayori could barely distinguish behind her tears. Frenzy and exultation, however, rang true deep within her, clear as day. 

"Yuri..." Sayori gasped out, keening voice beckoning the taller. Sayori was unable to keep calm, hiccups of sorrow and distress growing more forceful the closer Yuri and her wide eyes lingered. 

Control had been relinquished to Yuri quite a while ago, from the moment Sayori, barefoot, dazed, agonized, shuffled into Yuri's room. Sayori required immediate introspection towards herself; the injuries sustained were but two small gashes; still, they rendered her _fucking immobile what the fuck_ _is Yuri_ and slightly captivated. Sayori's fingers dug into her bony shoulder, pointer finger sliding against the smooth strap of Yuri's bra, in an effort to either coax her closer or push her away. The intent was inconsequential to Yuri because she stalked tighter regardless. 

Yuri's hands squeezed her face more, a gentler version of the previous grip she adorned, but instead of invading Sayori's obediently opened mouth, Yuri slowly pulled her lower eyelid down to expose the unseen, yellowy bloodshot part of Sayori's lower eyeball, complementing its natural milky white state. This is where Yuri's tongue gingerly brushed, tracing her sensitive waterline, to transfer the blood she received from Sayori's cut. Her eye had never been molested or assaulted in such a perverse way before, with such curious intent. Sayori, genuinely unable to react apart from the soft hyperventilating and tense body, became consumed with innate revulsion and panic. Consent and control became completely foreign to Sayori in her emotional mess. Not only were tears smudging her vision, not only was Yuri forcing her delicate eyelids open to tenderly lick the wet sphere like a sweet lollipop, not only was she being cut and carved like a piece of meat...

...but the adrenaline her cells created remained out of her control too. _Nothing_ Sayori could grasp about her own body, the situation, the insect-like buzzing outside of the door desperate to infiltrate their minds once more, or the uncontrolled action potentials arousing her nervous system retained control of herself. 

Sayori's overwhelmed trembling continued to be neglected by Yuri - who's tongue became more forceful, almost willing to pop Sayori's eyeball out of its socket. Yuri's soft, panting breath, combined with the stale afternoon air, painfully stole the moisture from her eye until it became much too painful to allow Yuri's indulgence. Violently shoving Yuri with her non-cut arm, Sayori gladly generated space for her to breathe properly. Her vision diligently returned after squeezing her eyes shut, unleashing her tears from their floodgates. And like calming from an analgesic high, Sayori stared up at Yuri's bewildered expression of interruption. 

At this time, Sayori knew Yuri couldn't care less about her composure or appearance, judging by the messy pinkish bloody saliva stains on her lips and chin. "That was _fucked up_ , Yuri," Sayori suspired softly, sounding like she scolded the taller girl. 

"I don't care," her simple, impassive response sent a shiver up Sayori's spine. Where did the overly caring and cautious Yuri disappear to?

"Just...don't do that again," she pleaded as her hand pitifully dropped from Yuri back onto the mattress. 

"I don't care," Yuri repeated. Sayori's arm was gripped once more so Yuri could gaze upon the cross-cut, then promptly reattach her mouth and _suck_ fervently. 

Sayori willingly succumbed. It wasn't just her suctioning cavern and firm lips driving her closer to insanity, but the way Yuri's teeth roughly scraped across her fresh wound, not to mention the likely threat of Yuri behaving unpredictably again. The way her brow exaggeratedly furrowed in deep concentration, and the wet, slurping noises so undignified coming from Yuri herself. Sayori wondered what _she_ looked like to Yuri now? Expression unidentifiable to herself from her trance, Sayori envisioned damp tear streaks from her dull eyes, one pale pink mixed with blood, lips parted and the head rolled to one side. Did she look like she died from shock and stimulation? Did Yuri enjoy that?

Now, her cut had been sucked dry. As Yuri advanced towards Sayori, an alluring drop of blood escaped the corner of her mouth to splatter onto Sayori's chest. _Wasteful..._ Sayori demeaned the girl looming above her, though her contemptuous accusations didn't remain in her brain for long. A soft, flat tongue dragged from the bottom on Sayori's earlobe, slowly trailing along the hollow of her cheek, her cheekbone, her under-eye until the tear trail ended at Sayori's eye. 

Yuri, after greedily stealing Sayori's blood, stole her tears, too. No emotion channelled its way onto Yuri's features, as if every ounce of her concentration was dedicated to trapping the blood and tears in her mouth. But, still, Sayori opened her mouth and restlessly watched Yuri's jaw slowly drop open. The slick, wet insides of her mouth unfastidiously painted itself dark, murderous ruby, glistening like the aforementioned crystal, and begin to ooze in a thick, mucous-y trail straight onto Sayori's quivering tongue. 

Sayori thought nothing could top the disgust she experienced during their tongue meshing kiss, but every fibre in her being cringed and clenched and clawed at itself upon coming into contact with the warm gooey cocktail straight from Yuri's mouth. Sayori didn't dare gaze up at Yuri as she graciously transferred their combined fluids, however, she obsequiously connected with Yuri, pupil to pupil, and swallowed _everything_. 

Savouring the saliva and tear diluted, pinkish blood, mixing metal and brine on her taste buds, the distaste washed away slowly, allowing euphoria to corrupt her. It only registered to Sayori that Yuri had begun manically mumbling to herself, fiddling with the blade again. 

"...more?" Yuri's only intelligible word was 'more', and Sayori _needed_ more. Verbal consent, again, wasn't granted, but Yuri understood through empathetic osmosis that she could continue. 

"God, yes," she pleaded, voice almost debilitating into a choked whimper

Slice.

_ When did I... _

Cut.

_...deserve this?_

Carve.

_ This torture? _

Slit.

_Or is it a reward?_

Once Yuri cut Sayori's flesh to her pounding heart's content, she gingerly raised her arm to allow Sayori to dizzily, reluctantly, gaze at her creation. A switch seemed to flick within her, rendering every bit of pain and suffering she'd experienced so valuably, so marvellous to her psyche. Apart from the beginning two cuts where Yuri almost lost her sanity, each thin red slice appeared meticulous and practised. Sayori inhaled immensely slowly just _gazing_ upon the artwork permanently etched into her arm. The healing cuts on her wrist seemed so insignificant and ugly, no matter how enthusiastically Yuri complimented her earlier. Rhyme and reason properly displayed in the injuries, Sayori _knew_ the purple-eyed girl poured her soul into them. 

"Are you finished?" Sayori questioned, holding her breath as Yuri slowly examined the rest of her bare body. So much pale, unmarked flesh...

"What about here?" Yuri responded with her own soft question. Sayori flinched ticklishly as her frigid hand traced along her side, though not unpleasantly. "I wanna continue..."

Licking her lips once, full of anxiety, she nods with determination. "Continue, then, where ever you want."

Fingertips trailed from Sayori's curved side to the hem of her underwear. While Yuri literally opened her body and had seen its internal contents, Sayori would draw the line at nudity. It didn't seem like it, with how wanton she felt under that delicious blade, but she retained _some_ decent insecurities about herself. However, Yuri merely pulled the elastic strap down to expose Sayori's hip and slowly dragged the blade across the bone. What a different sensation; as if grinding itself on her bare bone, Sayori couldn't help but cry out softly at how it utterly hurt more than her wrists. 

Reluctance quickly returned. Reluctance dragged Sayori further and further down the higher those wounds reached. Once through with her hip, Sayori's underwear cruelly snapped back into place, right on a particularly nasty cut, which retaliated by soaking its juices into the fabric and melding them together. Though her stomach and chest rose and fell with every panting breath and gasp and groan, distractions were the least of Yuri's concerns. Blood lust widened her eyes like a black hole in an evening sky - not only was the cuts on foreign skin but foreign parts. This experienced produced novel assimilations for both of the girls.

Each slice up Sayori's side created a biting, heavenly ladder of blood from her hip to just under the back strap of her bra. And each slice allowed Yuri to tenderly walk her blood-stained pointer finger and her blood-stained middle finger up her body as if ascending a flight of stairs. Yuri's unpredictable and unstable fingers grew closer to her face.

"I've never hurt this part of myself before," Yuri mentioned wistfully, eyes following the red stamped fingerprints on Sayori's flesh. "I could never reach properly..."

Her voice, habitually symphonic and honeyed, grew a sharp edge in intensity to stab her right in her rapidly beating heart. The confession drew compassion from the coldest, most deceased places in her soul. Tilting her head up to embrace Yuri's famished expression, Sayori felt overjoyed and alive for the first time in a long while. 

"They'll scar the most, and reopen a lot," Sayori shakily informed, breathlessly anticipating her wounds weeping with every twist and bend of her lithe figure. 

" _Good_ , I hope they stain your shirts," Yuri grinned deliriously. 

"I"d like you to leave a deeper reminder." Bringing a trembling finger to trace the slit in the very centre of her curved waist, Sayori requested semi-permanent damage. 

"Retrace...?" She gulped, retreating slightly when the wounded girl weakly assisted the knife's reposition over the oozing cut. Sayori squeezed Yuri's wrist with just the tips of her fingers, euphorically beaming from the weighted gasp from Yuri's throat - her own painful stimulation. Empathy, however ephemeral it appeared due to Yuri's mindless plan, briefly existed from the shared reciprocated pain. 

"Yes, please," Sayori squeaked slightly, rolling on her side to allow Yuri a greater space to work on her torso. She felt utterly exposed and dirty as her breasts almost sloppily fell from her bra, but perhaps that would provide Yuri with an opportunity to slice different textures. 

The knife reentering a fresh wound was _mindblowing._ Sayori flinched and reflexively tensed the muscles in her lower back, forcing her spine to arch upwards. Yuri's wrist remained terse with tension as if holding herself back from sheathing the knife inside of Sayori's digestive system, right up to the hilt. Any other sensation with penetration could not compare. 

It was _my body_ that acted as Yuri's canvas, _my blood_ that kept her satiated for the moments they spent in the room. Salty tears turned sweet on Sayori's lips and magnified her vision. Sayori's raw injuries begged to be spread, to be deepened, to be torn...and borderline _fucked_. As the knife sawed back and forth shallowly within her, Sayori realised nothing mattered except for now. Nothing could make her feel as human as this, as fragile or deserving. No more worries, or cares, or _fucks_ remained inside of her system or her worrisome brain. 

_Fuck _poetry,  _fuck_ Monika,  _fuck_ Natsuki,  _fuck_ the Literature Club, and  _fuck __him_ ;

Yuri and this blade were the only things she needed now. 

When the thought entered her mind, Sayori couldn't help but muffle her body shuddering scream into the sheets. God, she was _fucked_. 

"I-It went so deep," Yuri swallowed thickly, inquisitively gazing within her body. Afraid to peak, but compelled, Sayori spied a messy, jagged V-shaped gash within her body. Nothing had ever prepared Sayori for this moment. No amount of introspection and becoming acquainted with her own fucked up mind informed Sayori that her mind didn't need befriending, but instead, her fleshy body. Plus, whatever was inside of herself. 

"...can see so much!" Sayori announced gleefully, voice hoarse. 

"Sayori, don't you think it's _too_ deep?" Her voice betrayed her raw intentions - her feigned worry and resentment for not allowing the knife to go deeper. 

"You can do more! Where ever you want, as I said!" She begged, wincing as she rolled back onto her back. Yuri's bedsheets would well and truly be ruined at this point. 

Yuri didn't require cajoling. "Sayori," she demanded hollowly, "spread your legs now."

She immediately did as she was told, no matter how loudly her flesh on her side shrieked with burning pain as she did. Toes curled and gripped the hills and curves of the pale sheets, untouched by her fluids, within their bend like an unconscious act of refusal. It was only natural, Sayori figured, thoughts clouded as anxiety plagued her body the closer and more dangerously Yuri ventured downwards towards her virgin flesh, that her body would react to pain in such a prehistoric and primal way. 

Although, the _pleasure_ blazoned in her bloodstream, now inside and outside of her body, stemmed from a newer part of her brain that remained untouched by Darwin's theory of evolution, or simple humanistic development. No, not even Freud could possibly assess her twisted feelings towards Yuri and her blade. Her mind utterly wanted it. 

Yuri settled between her legs, gripping her knee and forcing her thighs wider. A frown painted her features until she was content with how much flesh she was able to observe on her inner thigh. Sayori suddenly struck with fear as the blade grew closer to her, but it gladly melted away once she felt it against her skin, drawing blood like it was created to do so. 

Upon Yuri's wound's reveal on her legs, Sayori never imagined that she'd been feeling this amazing. Even judging by Yuri's expression, physically seeing the area to injure repeatedly provided a whole new viewpoint. While Yuri's cuts remained sloppy, time was delegated to lavish perfectly symmetrical pain across both of her thighs. Time felt like it stood still in the room - no amount of clocks nor the colour deepening across the sky could prove to Sayori that her perception of time continued to be altered. 

The pull of gravity forced the blood trails to drip down her thighs, selfishly staining the sheets - a thrill coursed through her veins knowing Yuri would hesitate before washing the sheets. Her punishment swiftly delivered involved Yuri's sweat-soaked hand seeping into and smothering her cuts. Although, was the act truly disciplining Sayori if she unreservedly loved it? Sayori's skin received its repayment (promptly shared with Yuri's hands), smeared red on her white skin like drops on the sheets. Joyful relief washed over her ruined body; now, she emulated Yuri's stunning wounds. 

While Sayori basked, Yuri appeared restless. 

"Which was your favourite?" Yuri inquisitively pondered. 

It was difficult for Sayori to conjure a proper answer. "Uhm...this one...yeah," Sayori weakly pointed to the deep gouge in her flesh that steadily bled out. 

"Me too...the _sound_ your body made while I cut it open was tantalizing," she divulged, placing both of her hands either side of the gash and pried it apart. 

Sayori attempted to move her leg to kick Yuri away from inflicting more damage, but the many cuts reminded her she was in no condition to relinquish Yuri's newfound control over her body. She had no choice but to allow Yuri to play with her, slowly flushing brighter and breathing heavily, until she'd completely and utterly lost her mind. 

"I can't _take_ it anymore!" She anticipated, launching into a fast movement to pin Sayori down once more. Uncharacteristically wild and unhinged, Yuri tightened her grip on the knife. 

"What?" Sayori calmly breathed, frowning slightly, "what can't you take?"

"This area." Her fingertip traced a firm line over Sayori's throat, stopping and pressing over her trachea for a short moment. "This area is bare. And clean. And not bloody."

No thoughts came to Sayori's mind besides visions of potential damage Yuri could inflict on her. 

"Want it here, too?" Yuri squealed with exhilaration, clumsily sliding (without slicing just yet) the sharpest, and wettest, parts of the blade along the front of Sayori's throat, mimicking her past finger path. The pointy tip barely nicked her skin as rested on Sayori's carotid pulse spot, bouncing rapidly with every beat of her excited heart.

Unable to properly conjure any words of praise or pain, Sayori nodded frantically. No matter how much she ached to see her body littered with cuts, skin tattered and oozing with hot, thick, _hidden but I'm so glad I can see it now_ sin expelled. Old, familiar places on her wrists, and novel places on her upper arms, up the sides of her waist and between her legs all stung and throbbed. 

Arching her neck and shoulders up into the knife, Sayori physically begged for irreversible action, sighing at the slick, pleasurable feeling of the bloody weapon drawing on her neck to create mock, red cuts. No words or noises left her, as her body was too tense and wrecked with ecstasy and adrenaline to form meaningful sentences anymore, but Yuri understood what she needed. A crimson choker on Sayori's neck adumbrating the gesture of  Sayori's demise, Yuri brandished her knife...

But Yuri stopped short of plunging the knife into Sayori's throat, instead of pausing, then slowly dropping her head to be cradled by the dip in her belly between her ribs and hip bones. She appeared sweet, almost satiated. Sayori knew that she'd eventually kill her by following her initial desires one day if she came crawling back to Yuri, again and again, after the adrenaline finally wore off and she was once again plagued by the incessant white noise. By then, Sayori would know what to do.  _Somehow_ , Sayori mused happily to herself, ignoring the fresh wounds on her arms as she placed a gentle hand on Yuri's head,  _I wouldn't mind that, at all._


End file.
